


Third In Line

by iamanidhwal



Series: 'Tis The Season [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 31 Days of Fanfiction Challenge, 31 Days of Ficmas, 31 Days of Ineffables, 31 Days of Ineffables Advent Calendar Challenge (Good Omens), 31 Days of Ineffables Advent Calendar Challenge 2019 (Good Omens), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Ballroom Dancing, Christmas Decorations, Christmas Fluff, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Dreams, Dreamscapes, Fanfiction, First Kiss, First Meetings, M/M, Nutcracker AU, References to The Nutcracker, Royalty, The Nutcracker AU, They/Them Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), drawlight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:55:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21658630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamanidhwal/pseuds/iamanidhwal
Summary: Aziraphale falls asleep in the middle of reading a Christmas book. He finds himself in a vivid dream, where he's at the receiving end of the affections of three handsome princes.And the third prince -- with his flaming-red hair, charming smile, and quick wit -- is quickly winning Aziraphale over.(Day 3 of "31 Days of Ineffables" Challenge -- Nutcracker)
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: 'Tis The Season [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1560976
Comments: 19
Kudos: 108





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Day 3 of the "31 Days of Ineffables" challenge, this time with the prompt of "Nutcracker"! 
> 
> I had the really, /really/ funny idea of Crowley being suspicious and wary of a nutcracker doll on the mantle that Aziraphale had purchased (like those Elf on the Shelf schticks) but I'm listening to The Nutcracker Suite and this idea won me over. :)
> 
> This also ballooned from a crack AU fic into something more than 5k words (which definitively does not fit the definition of 'ficlet') so :^))) I'm a clown
> 
> The fic is 95% done, so I thought it would be good to post it in chapters! Will update it constantly :)

* * *

Immortal beings such as angels and demons, in theory, don't need sleep.

But fatigue brought on by decorating for Christmas became an impetus of some sort. Aziraphale had even asked Crowley to come over, bribing his two hands for a couple of hours with a nice bottle of rum that he had been saving for colder weather. The demon readily accepted, but by the second hour of holding up boxes full of colorful garlands and shiny decorations, his mouth had set into a hard frown, running complaints constantly.

"Why are you even decorating? Barely anyone comes to the shop, you made sure of that," he grumbled, passing a string of colorful lights to Aziraphale, who was perched precariously on top of a stepladder. 

"Come, now, you silly demon, lighten up," he said, pinning it to an evergreen garland he had set up just a few minutes before. "Where's your Christmas spirit?"

The demon scoffed. "Dead in a ditch."

Aziraphale sighed, shaking his head as he stepped down the ladder. The sleeves of his shirt had been rolled up to his elbows, and there was sweat on his brow and his lip from the strain. He took a kerchief from his pocket and wiped it away, huffing a little. "My, this is some strenuous work. Thank you for helping out, dear."

"Ngh, no problem," Crowley mumbled, crossing his arms and leaning back against a pillar. He looked around absently, surveying with mild interest the progress that they had set up so far. "Why'd you even need me? You could have just Miracled it up there yourself."

Aziraphale stiffened. "W-Well, it's m-much better, I think, to decorate the shop yourself. B-By hand. Much like how I like my cocoa made; b-by hand."

"Hmm." Crowley's eyebrows furrowed for a second, wondering why Aziraphale was suddenly stammering, but he dismissed it with a shrug of his slender shoulders. "Right then. Am I free to go?"

The angel bit his lip, hesitating. "Well..."

At that moment, Aziraphale's stomach grumbled. Crowley blinked for a second, then grinned. "How about I do a cocoa run, hm? Get some chimney cakes from down the street? On me."

The angel just smiled. "Thank you, dear, I'd like that."

"Right." Crowley leaned away from the pillar and took his coat and scarf, which he had hung on the coatrack. He smiled fondly at the dark coat and hat hanging there, a little homage that Aziraphale made and that Crowley found endearing, before he turned around. "I'll be back in a bit. Get some rest, angel, you've done enough work."

Aziraphale waved him off, and when the bells to the shop had rung and the door had finally swung closed, he slumped against his favorite chair with a sigh.

It wasn't as though he was stalling, but he was _definitely stalling._ After the Apocalypse-That-Wasn't, and Heaven and Hell turning their backs to them (and the angel and demon doing it likewise), Aziraphale was suddenly brought to light to how much feelings he had for Crowley. 

It never got brought up, of course, as they made sure to live and act every day as they had done for thousands of years already. Crowley still did little frivolous 'demonic miracles' for himself, things that made little annoyances bowl over to affect half of London. Aziraphale still kept to his bookshop, and would send pesky landgrabbers and shady gangs running with their tails tucked between their legs, regretting why they'd ever try to wrangle a prized location from a seemingly pushover shopkeep. They'd meet in Saint James for ice cream and the occasional picnic, dine at the Ritz, all that jazz.

But at the end of the day, in the quiet drive home, Aziraphale found himself wanting to lean his head on Crowley's shoulder, or reach over to touch him. When he'd park by the curb, he'd expect Crowley to lean in for a kiss. When he'd be dropped off and Crowley would wave goodbye before speeding off to the threat of the general walking public, Aziraphale wanted nothing more than to have him stay the night over. And when he'd close the door to the shop, it didn't feel as warm and as inviting as it once was without the demon's presence there.

It all seemed so, so empty.

The angel sighed and leaned back, hands reaching over to the worn side-desk and grasping at a book, any book, for him to read to distract himself. He found himself staring at a child's book -- for whatever reason it was left there, he had no memory of -- about an abridged, kid-friendly version of The Nutcracker.

"Festive enough," he decided, and flipped through the pages, humoring the large letter set, as well as the colorful images.

The warmth in the bookshop radiated pleasantly from the heaters, and with the cold weather from outdoors and the fatigue finally settling in, Aziraphale had slipped into a nap before he knew it, hands going slack on the book propped on his lap.

* * *

Aziraphale wasn't a vivid dreamer. Or at least, he thought he wasn't. Angels, as well as demons, if he could conjecture so far off, didn't really need sleep. Aziraphale could easily blitz through days and even weeks, too caught up in reading every literary work of one author to another, before he realized that he had stayed up for too long in human standards. So when he always slept, it was always at the very brink of exhaustion, and he'd wake up days later having no memory of what had transpired in his corporation's brain.

But Aziraphale was seeing color. He opened his eyes slowly, looking around at the alabaster walls that seemed to stretch infinitely skyward. The angel looked around, feeling lost all of a sudden, because he looked like he was in a throneroom, lavishly decorated with the motifs of his signature tartan design all over. 

"My Lord." 

He looked to his right and he saw what looked like that boy Newton that he had met at Tadfield. Gone was his meek demeanor, and this man with Newton's face was standing rigidly upright, holding a scroll while facing him. "My Lord, are you alright?"

"Wha... me?" 

Newton blinked in confusion. "I... yes, I suppose so."

"Newton, boy, I think you've got it wrong," Aziraphale mumbled, standing up. His clothes felt heavy, and he looked down to see rich textures of velvet blue on his trousers, as well as a dark tunic-like thing on his body. 

It wasn't like him at all. 

He snapped his fingers, willing his clothes to change. The sound of his fingers together reverberated in the whole room, and although it was only Newton he could see, Aziraphale felt the whole room get colder, as though tension was seeping through the cracks. When he looked down, his clothes were still the same.

He paled. Were his miracles not working?

"Come on," he grumbled, snapping his fingers, again and again, almost glaring at his clothes and daring them to change color. The blue, to his chagrin, stayed the same deep shade.

Newton gulped audibly beside him. "My Lord, i-if I may--"

"Newton, why do my powers not work?" Aziraphale asked, panic settling in now and making his voice waver. "I need to change, this is unlike me --"

"Change...? Yes, of course." Newton clapped his hands suddenly, and two servants in plainclothes marched up from a hidden side door, bowing deeply in front of Aziraphale and not raising their heads even when the angel told them to stop. "Lead His Highness to his quarters, have him dressed as he pleases."

"Understood, sir."

"And, uh, My Lord..." Newton tilted his head a little, nervous. He looked like the real Newton Pulsifer in Aziraphale's head for a quick moment before that specific image dissolved. "You are to meet and entertain three Princes today. They'll be staying to discuss new, open relations with their respective kingdoms..."

"Newton."

Everybody in the room jumped at the forcefulness in Aziraphale's tone. Newt, to his credit, was still standing upright, but he looked like he wasn't even breathing due to tension. "I merely meant to say that I am up to no standards to meet with anyone, my dear boy."

The man sighed weakly, relief flooding into him. "Unfortunately, this cannot be stalled, and you were the ones who invited them in the first place. The only thing I can do for you is to stall, and for you to meet with them one at a time."

"If all else fails, then I'll accept it." Aziraphale sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he was led back to where the supposed King's quarters were. 

This was getting ridiculous. In no way was he a king, nor did he ever sought to be a member of the Royal Court. Sure, during the Middle Ages he was usually mistaken as a member of the royal bloodline, and when he identified with a female corporation for a couple of decades, _Lady Zira Fell_ had many suitors falling at her knees left and right, offering land, riches, opportunities. 

But this was, in no way, a time to play kings and queens. He wasn't needed anywhere, but the physical taxation was already starting to wear him down, just by the weight of all the clothes he had to wear, not to mention the figurative burden of a whole kingdom fit snugly on his shoulders. He knew he was in a dream, and that his miracles didn't work. With Newt around, he would surmise that there were other, more familiar faces around the kingdom as well.

The only thing he _didn't_ know was how to get back to reality.

But before he knew it, he was dressed in sharp, black trousers and a grey tunic, a lavish purple coat handed over for him to wear.

"This... This isn't what I like," he said quietly. But the servants had already gone.

Aziraphale sighed and sat on the grand, four-poster bed that looked like it was barely slept in. The sun was shining through a tall window, and yet the angel felt nothing but coldness. 

Even in a kingdom that was supposedly in the palm of his hand, he felt very, very alone.


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

There were two things Aziraphale didn't know. 

One: that they had what looked like Heaven at the very top of the castle. Aziraphale looked up at the skylight, which was all made out of glass, and tried to feel the warmth of the sun that was streaming directly in. He failed to, once more.

Two: the first of the Princes he was about to entertain was Gabriel.

The minute he saw who was waiting for him, Aziraphale's stomach clenched. It only did that whenever he was nervous, or angry, or disgusted. Seeing Gabriel's face made him feel all three, in the same wave of emotion that left him ultimately standing stock-still by the doorway.

"Your Majesty." Gabriel, in all his imposing height, bowed deeply. His smile was wide, and his purple eyes were still cold, but at least there was a little bit of sincerity in his actions. "Pleasure to meet you."

"Gabriel," Aziraphale greeted, barely giving him the same respect, royalty-wise. "What are you doing here?"

The tall man blinked. "You... summoned me here for a talk. Regarding diplomatic relations?"

"Don't play into the games of this world, Gabriel." He scoffed, crossing his arms. "As I am not, as well. Help me get out of here."

"Er --"

"My miracles don't work. I suppose since you're an archangel --"

" _Archangel?_ "

"Unless this is all Heaven's doing?" Aziraphale raised his eyebrow, suspicion rolling off of him in waves. "If that's the case --"

"Please, Your Majesty, calm down." Gabriel held his hands up, trying to assuage him into settling down first before getting even more fired up. "Pardon me, I really have no idea what you're talking about."

Aziraphale regarded him up and down, and Gabriel stood still for him on instinct. He had grey on grey, just in different shades, like what he usually wore in Heaven, as well. His hair was a bit on the longer side, but still slicked back. Power and authority was emanating off of his shoulders, but it was suppressed, as though he was consciously trying to look approachable.

If anything, Aziraphale resented him more for it.

But he wasn't the type to argue, especially unprovoked. He sighed a bit, then gestured to the dainty set of chairs and table, a trolley to the side with an assortment of cakes on a tier. "Have a seat."

"Thank you, Your Highness." Gabriel's long legs folded neatly as he sat, and he smoothed out his suit. 

Aziraphale noticed this while pouring himself tea. He already knew Gabriel wouldn't want to eat or drink anything. "There's no shame in having your clothes wrinkle. That's what clothes do."

The man across him furrowed his eyebrows, as though he was trying to phrase it in his head in a way it won't offend anyone. "I know that's what clothes do. But if I can control it not to, I would."

"You can't. That's life. Pick your battles, Gabriel." He leaned back, sipping his tea. The first smile he'd made all day made an appearance on his face as the tea calmed him down. "May I ask what your plans are for these diplomatic relations? I'm convinced this is a pitch session."

"Pitch... well, yes." Gabriel hummed, then suddenly leaned forward. 

Before Aziraphale could muster up a reaction, Gabriel's wide hand closed over Aziraphale's resting on the table -- not in a vice grip, but not exactly comforting either. "A union would be in the best interests of both our kingdoms, wouldn't you agree?"

The smaller man blinked, rigid. "Union?"

"Marriage, if you will." Gabriel grinned, his thumb rubbing circles on the back of Aziraphale's hand as he kept talking. "A bounding of hearts. A --"

"I know what 'union' means." Aziraphale glared at him from across the table, pulling his hand back. "I'm asking because this is unlike you."

Gabriel's hands faced upwards, appealing. "Then hear my ideas. A union between my kingdom and yours would be beneficial, not just to you and mea, but also to our citizens. Your kingdom was once a part of mine, Aziraphale. Were it not for outside forces, you'd have stayed within the boundaries of Heaven."

"Perhaps there was a reason why my kingdom left."

"Perhaps that was a mistake." Gabriel's eyes grew cold. "Your Kingdom of Earth is a strategic place, rich with natural resources. Good fields to sow seeds, literally and figuratively. My citizens will enjoy your land, and your citizens will be privvy to the power and security of Heaven. All it takes is for you to say yes. So, say it."

Aziraphale scoffed and stood up. "Gabriel, I hold you in a high regard, but I'm not going to say something I don't want to merely because you tell me to."

He couldn't believe this. Aziraphale stomped to the door, snapping his fingers to alert the servants. "Clear the table and have Gabriel seen out at once."

"Where are you going?!" Gabriel called out. "Aziraphale!"

"Away from you!" Aziraphale yelled back, slamming the door shut on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sass-ziraphale gives me life ok


	3. Chapter 3

The next day, Aziraphale was still prickly over the interaction with Gabriel. He didn't know _why_ marriage had ever been an option, and why it was the _only_ option he'd pitched before he left. Not that Aziraphale would even try to listen to any other choices; the sooner that Gabriel left the vicinity of the palace, the better.

Newton had picked out a pair of black leggings and a red tunic for him to wear today to entertain the second prince, and once again, Aziraphale's complaints with the choice of clothing fell on deaf ears. Resigned, he's been snapping his fingers and looking for holy texts around the castle in the hours leading up to the meeting, still trying to think about any other ways he could get out of the dream and back into reality.

Getting quite sad and pathetic results, Aziraphale excused himself and took a torch before descending into the cellars, the cool atmosphere giving him a sense of freshness, ironic though it was. When his feet finally landed on solid ground, he ducked his head, turning this way and that from dark tunnels and corridors, until he had found what he was looking for.

Newton had described that their Kingdom had vats upon vats of wine stored under the palace for special events like annual balls and dinner parties. The moment he had told Aziraphale, the angel wanted nothing more but a glass or two. Perhaps five.

"Port." He grinned at the words neatly stenciled into the side of the barrel, then looked around. "Oh, bugger, I forgot to bring a glass..."

"Use mine."

Aziraphale wasn't spooked easily, but his screams reverberated around the halls as he heard another voice speak up from behind him. Panicked, he turned around to see a person of short stature, messy black hair falling against their face and a blood-red cravat with pins decorating their lapel. Beelzebub stood with dignity even in the dark, their dark eyes shining with the torchlight. They held up an empty wineglass, non-threatening.

"W-What are you doing here?" he asked, hating how his voice was squeaky.

"Pardon my intrusion, your Highness." Beelzebub bowed low before straightening. "I simply asked one of the maids assigned to me whether I could get a glass of wine to ease my nerves upon meeting you. It's why I'm here."

Aziraphale blinked. "You could have just asked the maid to get one for you."

"Mmm, I'm more hands-on when it comes to menial things." They shrugged a little. "And what brings you here as well?"

He sighed weakly, lowering the torch. "I'm supposed to meet another prince today. Would that, by any chance..."

"That would be me." Beelzebub leaned forward to fill the glass with port, turning the spout from the barrel quite easily. The red liquid looked black in the darkness, but the sweet scent filled Aziraphale's nostrils and made his mouth water. "I'm sorry, we could go up to where it's much brighter."

"No, no need." Aziraphale smiled weakly, hesitant to take the glass from the Prince. Their fingers brushed together as the cup was handed over. "Something more... _casual_ might set me at ease."

"Of course." Beelzebub nodded, then tilted their head. "I want to apologize on behalf of my brother's blunder yesterday. Although I'm not really sorry, as his mistake is to my advantage."

Aziraphale nearly choked on his sip of wine. "Gabriel is your brother?"

"Yes, I thought you knew." They blinked up at him owlishly. It made them look ten times younger, although their exact age was difficult to perceive to begin with. "You sent us three different letters, but we received them all the same. We rule different kingdoms as well."

"Right." Aziraphale leaned back, sipping the wine and letting the flavor dance on his tongue. "Are you also going to convince me that a union is better?"

"Yes." There was no hesitation in Beelzebub's voice. "A union is the most ideal option."

Aziraphale looked at them, biting his lip. He had no direct interaction with the Prince of Hell -- not as his own self, anyway -- and Crowley always had a sense of respect, if not fear, for them. They, along with Satan himself, were the only ones he ever bothered to recognize with their official titles and ranks. That, for Aziraphale, spelled 'foreboding' in large, red letters.

"I won't interfere with anything." Beelzebub shrugged. "As I am the ruler of the Kingdom of Hell, we also have men, lots of them. They can be at your disposal. Of course, we like pillaging and sacking other nearby towns. But we won't expect your men to partake in these activities."

"Nor will they," he said immediately, huffing. From bits and pieces of conversation and context clues, Aziraphale garnered that he was King of Earth, a sizeable area blessed with rich land. Most of the commoners were farmer folk, and would trade within and among themselves. "They are not exactly your type, no offense."

"None taken." Beelzebub shrugged again, checking their nails. "The union would only be on paper. There will be no grand ceremony, you'll be King of Earth, I shall be Prince of Hell, and that is how things will stay. No visits, apart from when trouble arises, but our kingdoms will stay largely separate."

The angel frowned, tilting his head. "Then what kind of union would that be?"

"One that my brothers don't have." They mirrored his head tilt. "Apart from that, nothing special."

Aziraphale put his glass down. "This could be a pitch for a casual alliance, Beelzebub. But for a union, I'd have to decline."

The Prince didn't look annoyed, to say the least. They held up their hand in dismissal as they started climbing the stairs. "Just say no to my other brother, and we'll be aces. I'll have someone draft an accord for you in the terms of an alliance, but for now, I'll be taking my leave."

The sound of the heavy doors to the cellars creaked open from overhead, leaving Aziraphale in the dark for a few moments, holding an empty glass. 

Alone, once again.


	4. Chapter 4

The third and last day of entertaining princes finally came, and Aziraphale had had it from the moment he opened his eyes.

Newton, bless his heart, had been increasingly nervous the past two times the Princes had been sent home empty-handed. He had learned that, on the first occassion, Aziraphale had stormed off, while on the second, he had coldly refused Prince Beelzebub in the chilly cellars. 

"We'll be going all out today," he announced as Aziraphale was served a hearty breakfast. "The third Prince has invited you over for an evening ball in their palace."

"An evening rendezvous?" Aziraphale hummed, smacking his lips as if there was something bitter on his tongue. "A party boy, then."

Newton gulped. "Well, worded like that..."

"I have no time to entertain men who would rather spend their time having fun when they should be running their kingdom." Aziraphale wiped the corners of his mouth with a napkin before standing up. "I'll be taking a walk, no guard follow me."

"Y-Your Highness, you have a dress-fitting in three hours --"

"I'll be back by then," he shut Newton down, then marched off. 

He needed some fresh air, and although the windows were all open, there was no breeze coming in. Different thoughts of Gabriel and Beelzebub swirled around his head, and in no time he found that his feet had taken him to the lush gardens in the Palace courtyards.

He sighed wistfully at all the blooming flowers, different colors and shapes and sizes, flanking him left and right. There were topiaries of various heights and subjects as well, and Aziraphale breathed in their scents deeply, following a road of loose gravel. For now, everything seemed so overwhelming. He knew there was a maze somewhere, and he wanted to get in and through quickly. 

The maze entrance was tall, and all the hedges were over six feet. He sighed weakly and entered, letting the brush overwhelm him. A few turns here and there and he could already tell that he was lost, the halls looking very much the same as each other.

Aziraphale liked mental exercise, and so he tried retracing his steps. "Two left, one right, third way over..." he mumbled to himself, looking around to see where he'd end up and if he'd recognize anything familiar. 

But then he found himself facing a dead end, and the smile that was on his face was immediately wiped off.

" _Fuck,_ " he swore, and there were only a few times in six millennia that he actually uttered such words. He could all count them in one hand. Aziraphale was already tired of everything in this world, and there was a heavy feeling on his chest as he sank down to his knees, properly overwhelmed with everything around him. 

Here, in the middle of a pathway leading to God-knows-where, with his back to the hedge, the angel started to cry, burying his face in his arms as tears flowed freely down his face. Aziraphale wanted to go home, wanted to be back in his bookshop. He wanted to be an angel again, not bound by the rules of mortality, because it was all so tedious to maintain proper diet and sleep. All he wanted to do was curl up in a corner of a vast library, world be damned, but now he was being whisked away to meet with anyone and everyone he _never_ hoped to meet in such circumstances.

And he hadn't even met the version of Crowley in this world. Aziraphale had longed for his familiar face and voice, something to grasp onto when he thought his mind was slipping, but even _that_ he couldn't get. 

"Is there someone there?" a voice called out from overhead, and Aziraphale hurriedly looked up. 

The path in front of him was empty, but the voice was unmistakable. "C-Crowley?"

"Ngk... pardon?" 

"Crowley, you devil!" He squawked, standing up and hurriedly wiping his tears away. "Where are you?!"

"I-I'm afraid you have the wrong person, whoever-you-are!" The disembodied voice said, all panicked, and Aziraphale frowned. 

"Oh, my dear, come on, please?"

The voice sighed. "I really am sorry, but I don't know you. If I did, I'd have recognized your voice. I was... worried. I heard sniffling through the hedges, and thought a child might be lost."

The angel smiled wistfully, sitting back down on the ground and faced the hedge, imagining Crowley was on the other side doing the same. "You always were good with kids, my dear."

There was a pregnant pause. "Are you sure we've met before?"

"Yes. Well, no. This is confusing." Aziraphale sighed and twiddled his thumbs. "How do I say this... in another world, we are... _partners,_ of sorts."

"Partners, hm? In what sense?"

"I-In every sense but one," the angel replied hotly, feeling his cheeks warm up at the thought.

Crowley's voice, wherever it was, rang out with a laugh. Aziraphale had to pause and close his eyes, revelling in the familiar warmth of it all. "I see. Well... are you okay, then?"

"Yes, of course." _Now that I know you're here,_ Aziraphale thought, but decided not to blurt out. It was still a heavy blow for him that this world's version of Crowley didn't recognize him, nor was he also trapped into this like he was. "May I ask you a question?"

"I'll try my best to answer."

"...If you were trapped somewhere," he said slowly, trying not to alarm the man. "Somewhere you didn't want to be..."

"Like this maze?"

That earned a laugh. "Yes, precisely, my dear. What would you do to get out?"

Crowley hummed thoughtfully before answering. "I'd think of retracing my steps. Or calm down, and think clearly. What happened, what did I do to get here? Maybe doing the opposite would work? Something along these lines of thought. I'm sorry if I could only offer vague instructions."

"Don't apologize, dear, that was plenty, thank you." Aziraphale stood up, dusting his bottoms and knees, before doing what he said. "I'll do as you said."

"Good luck. Oh! May I ask for your name?"

The angel hummed. "Aziraphale."

There were flustered noises that answered him back, but he ignored them. He took a deep breath, then tried to re-imagine his steps, before undoing them one pace at a time. 

A few turns later, and he finally reached the middle of the maze, with a tall marble fountain with intricate details of a water-bearer pouring streams onto a wide basin at her feet. There were benches as well, on all four sides of the fountain facing outwards, with small bushes of flowers in between.

What caught Aziraphale off-guard, however, was the lone rose on the right-most bench. Brilliant red in color and with the stem already de-thorned, he picked it up and noticed a small note tied to it with a silver ribbon.

It read: " _ Forge on the path of your own making, and you will arrive wherever you need to be." _

He looked around for any sign of Crowley, or anybody at this point, but didn't see anyone. Aziraphale just sat on the bench, reading and re-reading the note and trying to come up with a plan to escape.


	5. Chapter 5

The party was already in full-swing when Aziraphale finally arrived, his coach bringing him to a tall but minimalist castle a stone's throw away from the last house in the Kingdom of Earth. There was, of course, a royal welcome as he was announced to the partygoers when he entered, and there were cheers when he finally stepped through the threshold.

Aziraphale had finally put his foot down and asked for white and beige and tartan in his wardrobe, nothing else. Newton, who was surprised, thankfully obeyed and brought in the things Aziraphale was yearning for. He put on some dark beige breachers, tan calf-boots, a white long-sleeved tunic and a tartan coat to go over it. Finally in the wardrobe that he liked, he finally felt like having a semblance of control back in his hands.

The angel had always liked parties, but half of the reason was because he knew someone there. Now, though, with so many eyes and faces turned to him as he made his way over to an usher serving drinks, he felt quite vulnerable.

"Didn't expect to see you here." Aziraphale turned around to see Beelzebub, in a splendid dark coat that glinted and shone when the light of the chandeliers hit the fabric. "I didn't know you were the type."

"Beelzebub. A... uh, pleasure." 

"Don't be too stiff," Beelzebub said, waving their hand as an usher passed them a round glass full of a dark, amber liquid. "Bygones are bygones, don't you agree?"

Aziraphale nodded, and clinked their glasses together. "To bygones."

They drank in silence together, before Beelzebub broke it. "I take it you've received the proposal from my dear baby brother?"

"As a matter of fact, I haven't." Aziraphale hummed, wiping the rim of his flute glass with a thumb. "He's invited me to this party instead."

Beelzebub rolled his eyes. "Always the show-off."

And as if on cue, the lights had dimmed, with the crowd shushing and turning to the stage. And as a figure rose from the throne and the people in long gowns and suits started cheering, Aziraphale felt the air rush out from his lungs. 

Crowley was standing up and waving his hands, a picture-perfect benevolent prince in a fitted all-black suit and a red mantle with white fur lining the edges slung over his shoulders. Gone were his black sunglasses, and his eyes weren't serpentine, but the warm color of honey.

Aziraphale had fallen in love with the Crowley in his world, but the Prince before him was absolutely  _ beautiful.  _

"I thank you all for coming tonight," he said, enunciation and diction perfectly ringing out in the vast hallways of the ballroom as everyone craned their necks to listen. "Food and drink are aplenty, and I have hired only the best musicians in the Kingdom of Eden to entertain and serenade us tonight. So please, fill your plates and empty your goblets, for tonight we shall dance until the morning, and by daybreak, dance some more!"

Aziraphale clapped with everyone else as they shouted cheers for the Prince, who excused himself and disappeared into a dark hallway. The angel wanted to go after him, talk to him, but Beelzebub held him back with a stern hand on his chest. 

"Don't."

"Beg your pardon?"

"Anthony isn't who he displays himself to be in the eyes of the public." The short prince's mouth was twisted in faint disgust. "In truth, he is belligerent and only cares for the showmanship of everything. He couldn't run a kingdom even if he cried blood. I'm warning you, Your Highness. It would be bad to set a union with him."

He had heard enough slander. "Perhaps I can see and decide that for myself," he snapped, peeling Beelzebub's hand away from his body and stomping off. 

He heard Beelzebub call out what must have been "Don't say I didn't warn you", but he had effectively shut out any other person's opinions on Crowley. Aziraphale knew him the most, no matter which world they were in. This he was certain.

* * *

But he wasn't prepared to see Crowley dunking his head face-first into a sink brimming and overflowing with water. 

Aziraphale had panicked when he saw it, and rushed to the Prince's aid, pulling him back with enough force that sent both of them sprawled and spread-eagled on the cold tiles of the bathroom.

"What in God's name do you think you're doing?" Aziraphale yelped out, as Crowley scrambled up into a sitting position. His brilliant, red hair was plastered to the sides of his face, and he sputtered to try and clear out his airways. "Are you trying to drown yourself?!"

"N... No," came the weak-resolved reply from the Prince, who looked like he wanted to disappear right then and there. "W-What are you doing here?"

"I came to try and talk to you, but then I found your head in the water." Aziraphale scoffed and stood up, then offered a hand which Crowley took gratefully. "Really, my dear..."

Crowley looked up at him, surprised. "You're Aziraphale."

His heart thumped in his chest. "You remember...?"

"Yes, of course, I heard you sniffling in the garden," he blurted out, then reddened immediately. "W-What I meant to say was -- "

" _ Aha,  _ so it  _ was  _ you!" He squeaked, poking at Crowley's chest with a finger. "Really, my dear, there was no reason to run away."

"Of course there was!" He huffed, crossing his arms. "I'd like to know how you knew my alias."

"Your what, now?"

"My alias," Crowley repeated, his mouth thinning in annoyance. "Perhaps it'd be better for us to talk with this outside. Do you have a warmer coat on you? Evenings in Eden are chillier than in other kingdoms."

When Aziraphale shook his head no, Crowley led him out of the bathrooms and down a hallway, lavishly decorated with huge paintings and pieces of decorative art. The shorter man looked around appreciatively because Crowley always  _ did  _ have a fondness for art and all things appealing. And although his flat in London was minimal and bare, he knew that Crowley liked going to museums and spend his days there most of the time.

"Those were painted by my favorite artist, a genius by the name of Leonardo." Crowley supplied when he saw Aziraphale looking up at an oil painting of a man lounging on a bed of flowers. He looked up to see Crowley taking off his mantle and putting on a high-necked coat that had fasteners on his chest. "I always commission him."

"It's wonderful," Aziraphale agreed, eyes wandering back to the soft brushstrokes that looked as if the artist were breathing life into the canvas. 

He felt something heavy on his shoulders; Crowley had draped a tan coat over him, and even through three layers of fabric, Aziraphale could feel the warmth radiating from his palms. "Here; I hope this suffices."

"It does, thank you." 

Crowley smiled weakly, then led him to the side of the hallway and leading him out into the night.


	6. Chapter 6

They walked in silence for a little bit, but there was no real rush in breaking it. Crowley, in all of his decency, waited patiently as Aziraphale oohed and aahed at the garden. The Prince had led him to essentially a gardener's paradise, and although it was smaller than the Palace gardens in Aziraphale's vicinity, this felt more personal, and intimate. He might not have his angel powers with him, but every plant here seeped of love and care and nurture.

"These are all beautiful," he complimented, holding up to smell a white rose blooming beside him. 

Crowley just regarded him with a soft smile on his face. "This is my personal space. I usually tend it by myself. It's... like a passion project, one could say. I don't usually invite people in."

"Thank you for the privilege." Aziraphale tilted his head. "I really do appreciate it, Crowley."

"It's... It's Anthony." Crowley mumbled, clearing his throat. "When I have the crown on my head, at least."

Aziraphale blinked. "I'm sorry, I don't think I understand."

Crowley sighed weakly and leaned against a brick pillar, holding up a canopy where vine tendrils wrapped around serpent-like. "I sometimes go out into the streets in disguise, as a gardener. Most days I visit the shops to buy plants and seeds and fertilizer, perhaps some tools and pastries to eat and share with the other kids in the city square. On those days, I'm not Anthony, but Crowley." He looked back at Aziraphale, arms crossed on his chest. "That disguise has been effective with everyone in the kingdom, which is why I'm more than surprised that you would know."

"As I've told you, my dear, I know you."

"From another world, you mean?"

"Yes." Aziraphale sighed at the look of disbelief on Crowley's face. Even to him, the premise sounded preposterous. "It's ludicrous to me, too. But I've been stuck in this world for all of three days and everything I've known has been turned on its head, topsy-turvy on the road. I don't know what else to do. You, and Gabriel, and Beelzebub are all familiar faces, yet yours is the one I seek the most."

Crowley didn't reply, but there were two red splotches that appeared high on his cheekbones. He cleared his throat shyly, then started walking again, pace slow so Aziraphale could follow and fall into step easily. 

"I won't pretend that I know what you must be experiencing," he said slowly after a few moments of silence. "But I do share the same feelings when it comes to being too overwhelmed. This kingdom is a burden on my shoulders. Sometimes I think I was just handed it on accident, like a commendation for something I didn't even do. I don't feel worthy of it."

"My dear, you're worthy of a lot of different things," Aziraphale replied, pulling forth from his heart filled with everything he had ever wanted to tell Crowley but never could before now. He stepped in front of him, all but forcing Crowley to face him. "Never let anyone tell you otherwise."

A huff of breath escaped Crowley's lips as he smiled weakly. "What if I say it to myself?"

"Then I'll believe it for the both of us until you're finally ready to see things for what they really are."

A breeze passed by them, ruffling their clothes and their hairs. The leaves on the trees rustled as well, a soft hush in the dead of night. And in the light of the full moon shining overhead, Aziraphale thought Crowley was even more beautiful.

There was the sound of laughing from a window nearby, and a door must have been opened because they could hear the music from inside. Crowley wasn't lying when he said he only sought the best bands for the evening -- colorful notes danced in the air, reaching everything and everyone nearby.

The prince straightened and held his hand out for Aziraphale to take. "May I dance with you?"

Aziraphale didn't hesitate, placing his hand on his and his other arm around Crowley's shoulders. Crowley encircled him in his arms and started leading. It was an easy waltz, and they circled around each other, just smiling and feeling each other's breath warm on their faces.

"You always were a dancer," Aziraphale mumbled, looking up into his eyes. 

"Now that you say that, I really do feel like I've known you somewhere," Crowley mumbled, twirling him around. The angel followed with a small, shy laugh. "Have we not, really?"

"Not in this world, I don't think." The angel sighed weakly as they regained position. One song smoothly transitioned into another, and they might have been already dancing a circle, treading the grass beneath their shoes, but that didn't stop them. 

Crowley just grinned and dipped him all of a sudden. "That means I just get the pleasure of knowing you all over again."

Aziraphale blushed furiously before being whisked into a faster, and more glorious dance. Crowley was an expert with leading him around, body used to moving this way and that. Aziraphale could just watch him from afar and be captivated all the same, but seeing him sway and twirl up close enraptured him to no end.

Two songs became three, became ten, and by the time they were both properly winded, they were panting, breathing in the same air. Hands clasped together, cheeks pinked by the cold wind, coats discarded on a bush nearby. 

There were cheers from inside the ballroom, but Crowley and Aziraphale stayed where they stood, lips inches from each other's, eyes filled with starlight and yearning.

"Would it be so bad if I kissed you tonight?" Crowley mumbled after some time, nose nuzzling into the curls of Aziraphale's hair. 

His breath tickled in his ear, sending shivers down his spine, along with other places. "No, it wouldn't."

Crowley chuckled and tilted his head up by the chin, thumbing at his lower lip. He looked up at Aziraphale, checking if he was uncomfortable, and when he found only fiery determination, leaned forward and erased the space between them.

There, in the dark, their kisses were slow and passionate, hands holding onto each other and never quite satisfied enough to let the other go. There were only seconds of pause to let the other breathe before they continued once more until Aziraphale was backed against the same brick pillar that Crowley was leaning against before.

A question fell from Crowley's lips, but he was shushed by another breeze whipping past.

Aziraphale took one look at his eyes, suddenly knowing both question and answer at the same time. "Yes."

* * *

"Aziraphale?  _ Aziraphale!"  _

The angel awoke with a start, then looked around his surroundings. His surroundings filled with tasteful art and glorious sheets and a prince sound asleep from the night's activities were all replaced by the familiar, worn, musty shelves and tomes of the bookshop. He patted his face and his clothes, and the couch he was sitting on, noticing that the book he was reading had been placed back onto the side-table and that a blanket was draped over him.

"Crowley?" he called out, the last syllable coming out with a yawn.

"M'here, angel," the demon said, sauntering out of the kitchen with two steaming plates. He had taken off his coat and was just dressed in his long-sleeved gray undershirt and black vest, skinny jeans, and boots. Even the familiar black sunglasses were back on his nose. No trousers and breaches, no tunics and no frilly coats. "You must have been exhausted, so I let you sleep."

Aziraphale stretched a little, feeling a little bit knackered. "What time is it?"

"Eight-ish. Sit up, I made dinner." Crowley placed the dishes down, full of pasta and shrimp and garlic. "I do hope it's alright. I've finished up the decorating for you, as well. Do you want wine?"

The angel just looked on at the table, the dinner set-up, the demon sitting across him, ever-so-attentive. "My dear..."

Crowley winced. "Ngk... yes?"

"Thank you." He grinned and took the dish onto his lap, already getting ready for the first bite. "You really are a prince, do you know that?"

"A prince?" Crowley snorted, leaning back on his own chair, legs splayed out as if he was never taught how to sit his entire life. "Snooty little buggers, aren't they? I'd rather be a knight, to be honest, although getting into a suit of armor is bloody  _ tedious _ . You remember when we had a standoff at Wessex? I was sweating in places I've never sweated before, I'll tell you as much..."

Aziraphale just let him ramble on, grand gestures and dramatic retellings familiar. He just ate and drank, thankful for the presence of  _ his  _ Crowley, thankful for finding a way out. 

And although in this reality, Crowley has yet to know about his affections, or Aziraphale has yet to find any proof that he'd return it, the angel didn't seem to mind too much. They had the rest of eternity to figure it out. No need to rush.


End file.
